To those who've been so actively trying to let me know that I'm not forgotten, Thank you...
Thank you for the emails, for the MSN messages, for the long chats.
Thank you for all these despite your hectic revision schedule; for taking that time away to say hello, to stay in touch - most of you that I care about that is.
I miss you guys too ... a great deal ... and am trying to adapt to life here, one radically different and a lot quieter.
I'll write when I can. There are many musings but little motivation to pen them down.
The cultural exchange is interesting to say the least.
The fear of being forgotten by those whose presence constantly haunts your mind is fear more chilling than death itself. My departure has been compared to death by some; to others I've died only to live in spirit like a Jedi Master (a really strange analogy but I didn't invent it). But departure isn't death. It is being forgotten that is death itself, a dying of the self and identity that amounts to more than a physical degeneration.
We truly die when we are forgotten; our existence ceases to have meaning and we would have walked the face of this earth invisible, indeterminate, inconsequential, in limbo. We would have occupied a different dimension, one able to tread this path but unable to reach out and touch someone or something. Because we wouldn't exist.
Is our existence then dependent on others, on being remembered? Do we dissipate into nothingness when we are forgotten?
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